


What The Water Takes

by dreamer_of_clouds



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Fantasy, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Human Sacrifice, Mermaids, No One In This Village Is, Or Safe Sane or Completely Consensual, That Are Neither Fun Nor Sexual, This Dad Isn't Winning Any Awards, With A Few Extra Parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamer_of_clouds/pseuds/dreamer_of_clouds
Summary: Knights don't come for village girls. Neither do princes or kings. One must fight and save herself, or die to the world's violent whims.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	What The Water Takes

They chained us to wooden posts like beasts. I tugged at the manacles furiously, hoping for any sign of weakness. I would not die here. I would not cower as the other two beside me have, like tamed dogs. Raw red rings wrapped around my wrists and ankles—burning proof of my indignities. My nostrils flared at the sight. If only it would bleed, I might slip through and leave this cursed town and these damned people. Pain registered across my cheek and tongue. I turned towards the man, who claimed to be my father. 

“Have some dignity in these moments, child.”

I spat pooling blood at that hateful visage, imagining it to be poison and fire. 

“Renounce our bond here, you old bastard. Not even a gelded man would tie his spawn for slaughter.”

His face filled with blood, veins stark against a straining neck. “You would forsake your duty now?”

“Fuck my duties, and fuck your Gods that would ask this of you.” A gasp erupted from the gathering before us. 

He grabbed my chin with force. “You will pray and ask forgiveness immediately. I will not have you damn your soul from such brief moments of madness.”

The priest pitched in from behind, God help us.

“I don’t think you understand the honor you’ve been asked to partake in, Thessa.” I worked my jaw around my father’s grip. ‘Then take my place, your miserly coward.’ I thought. Oh, but how I wished for the worst upon that man. 

“Please,” he continued, “offer yourself graciously, as Adele and Maisley have. Don’t let fears of the pain of death blind your virtue. It will last but a moment, and your soul will be guaranteed entrance into paradise.”

I stilled my struggling, smoothing my brow. My father’s hand finally lightened its grip, turning to cup my cheek. The affectionate gesture burned. 

“Do you understand what Chaplain Fairweather speaks, my child? You will be saved. Your soul will be free from this world, and all its pain and strife.” His eyes burned with too bright light as he crooned his words. “With your good deed, you will secure the future of this town. That we might live through this winter, would be a gift only you can give.”

He was talking of course, of the knights - the king’s men. They came at daybreak, with polished pauldrons, gleaming gauntlets, snapping standards, and shining swords. They stood above us in the town square on thoroughbred horses, haloed by the morning light as they delivered their commands: This season's share of crops, seven bushels of grain, a team of cows, and seventy men above fourteen. They did not ask for the women. Those they took without a word. In truth, they did not ask for anything. They demanded, and with the following outrage, took everything. Which left us here, at the cliff side at noon, in a ritual to deliver a mild season and gentle rains. All that was required—three virgin maidens. I watched a crowd of cowed, bovine faces. They were no better than the hungry wolves that ransacked our town. Weaker for sure, fearful where the military men were lustful. But all were pathetic, simple minded beasts, reaching with desperate hands for useless gestures of power and security. In the end they all died, king or peasant, all becoming shit from the worms that feasted upon them. 

“I hope the rains comes for you.” I saw the words bring a fanatic shine to the eyes of my male parent.

“I hope the rain comes for you, and never ends. I hope it pours in the day and night, until you and the entire village drowns in it.”

He staggered back, struck by an invisible wound. I could see the white of his eyes, water pooling at the edges. The holy man clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“I suppose it’s best we start the ritual, yes?”

My father nodded dumbly, walking back to the small group of villagers that attended. It was small on purpose, a gathering only of the “heroines”, their family and the holy man. It made my mother’s absence all the more stark. 

A bell clanged. “And so it begins,” harked Faith Leader Fairweather. They undid the shackles of the first maiden, Adele, an orphan girl. All this time she had been praying constantly, shivers quietly racking her small frame. She was but a slip of a girl, barely fifteen summers. A constant hum of ritualistic nonsense accompanied her tentative walk to the cliff’s edge. There, hastily built was a swing from which we were expected to hurl ourselves with utmost poise onto the rocks and waves below. 

“Any last words, Adele?” 

She nodded, before smiling tentatively. 

“The Gods are good.”

Tiny hands signed a religious symbol before grabbing the rope, twined with white carnations. 

_ She swung herself once.  _

_ Long waves of blond hair curled around a cherubic cheeked face. _

_ She swung herself twice. _

_ Her amulet glinted briefly in the sun. _

_ She swung herself thrice.  _

_ She let go. _

She fell as if awaiting the cusping hands of her Gods. Instead she crashed into the greedy sea. Waves grabbed at her hair, ripping her bodice. Her body struggled, arms batting uselessly at the surrounding sea. The ocean flung her limbs akimbo, as if in retaliation. I knew without doubt that bruises and broken bones erupted under battered skin. Clothing torn asunder, her modesty ruined, I could see salt water invading all her orifices. She coughed, bubbles escaping as water forced its way into her throat, filling her lungs. The sea ravaged her, covetous currents sucking at breath and life. Soon, it seized everything. There was nothing left of her but a pillaged husk, all shy grace and quiet acceptance gone, swept by the sea. Her body, a husk, drifted down below, a meal for the ocean’s rapacious entourage of bottom feeders and shit trawlers. The last thing to fade from sight was the silver necklace that so freely swung from her bowed neck. 

Pitiful. 

  
  


The priest turned to the second girl, Maisley. Her mother had her out of wedlock, yet the shame never broke her daughter’s pride. Maisley stood regally, back unbowed. I could almost respect her, if not for the cape of resignation that draped her shoulders. She walked to her demise with poise, her eyes shadowed, yet determined. She took a seat. 

Again the question was asked, “Any last words?”

She replied simply. 

“I forgive you.”

And with that:

_ She swung herself once. _

_ Intricate braids of dark hair caressed aristocratic beauty. _

_ She swung herself twice. _

_ Common rags glinted like silk.  _

_ She swung herself thrice. _

_ She let go. _

Her face only cracked once. It was against the stones, the tides pulling back at the last moment. What was left was unrecognizable in so many ways. Her spine twisted, in an inhumane position bent in ways it never did in life. Cloth became dirtied and ragged in ways she never would have allowed. The waves splashed her, leaving foreign tears. There was no pride in the figure left behind. In so quick a moment, she shattered like glass leaving her pride and presence scattered across the rocks. Lips parted, as the body let out a final sound: a tiny sob, before the body gave into one last quake. With that the waves took her, leaving behind one thing: a crown of bone, separated from the body it erupted from. 

Pathetic.

The crowd turned from the gruesome sight to me. 

“I will not go so easily.”

The priest shook his head. “Are you any better than those girls, who sacrificed themselves so graciously?”

“Yes.” I answered easily. My life was my own, and no one else’s. It did not belong to the scornful ocean below, or the army of men now a week’s march away. It did not belong to this cowardly herd of who cannibalized their own in fear and belief. Two burly men reached for me, and I let them. I relaxed my body, as they tugged at my iron chains. They tightened they hold, leaving more marks they did not deserve to leave behind. My eyes spit fire as I stared at the crowd watching me. They had witnessed The Sacrifice twice over, and still asked for more. Scum! They were all scum! The grip on my arms loosened when they noticed my docile manner. In that moment I bit down with full force into the flesh of my captor, deep into meat of his arm. He howled, knocking me back onto the ground. Blood dripped down my chin. I spat out vile flesh. I rolled as a blow came my way. I untucked a small pin I had managed to stow away, and stuck it in someone’s eye; I could not tell who. 

"Oof." I was tackled to the ground, Maisley’s mother pounding against my face. 

“You are no better than my daughter!” she wailed. I struck her in the mouth, one of her teeth snagging against my hand. I grasped her throat as she sat on top me, stunned. I regretted near immediately after. It gave time for my father—the recipient of my hair pin—to use my momentary distraction to grab my calve, and tow me back to the cliff’s edge. I contorted my body, kicking and thrashing at him with my free leg. Someone else jumped on me. I bit them too, before getting a harsh slap to the face. Maisely’s mother recovered from my attack, taking hold of one hand.

“We’ll throw her in if we have to!”

Several family members joined in, seizing hold of me. I wriggled, weathering blows to bite, scratch, and twist in efforts for freedom. 

The reedy voice of Faith Leader Fairweather floated above the chaos. 

“May the Water God accept you, and have no complaints for the rest of us.”

We reached the cliffs edge.

I heard those dreaded words. 

“Any last words.”

“Do you?”

And with that:

_ They swung me once, _

_ and let me go. _

I dropped into the water with a loud splash. 

  
  


I did not beat back at the waves immediately. It filled my vision, tousling my hair and rolling through my thighs. The currents pushed up my dress, so I lifted it up and off my shoulders. The water roiled excitedly, the force ejecting me briefly from the water into air. I took another gasp, before ducking back under. I moved with the water, buoyeding bythe waves. I noticed with passing time that I was sinking. I kicked up once. My leg halted, and I noticed wrapped around my ankle was seaweed that felt —I yanked to make sure— like steel. More than that, it was tugging me downwards in a slow steady pull. I bent forwards, teasing at the plant. It squeezed once around my leg. I thought quickly, biting a nail for a sharp edge, before hooking it along the seam of the kelp strand. Pressure on my shoulders stopped me. I looked up. He was monstrous. Flat, black eyes rested in an elongated face, lined with mollusks and coral holes. His chest cavity was burst open, jagged urchin spines emerging from the center, six lobster like legs breaking out from the sides. He had no legs. Instead, meters long clear tentacles drifted down from his waist, meters into the darkness. His mouth opened, revealing an incongruously human-like smile. He spoke.

“You were the angry one.”

I nodded once.

“I felt you meters below, you know.” A human like hand reached out and stroked my face. I buried my shiver, but I knew that it did not slip his notice. His smile widened. He began to push down, still tugging on the trapped leg. I looked up at this greedy being. A wanton pig disguised as a deity. He had already fed on two before me and still hungered for another. Still thought himself entitled- Entitled to my flesh, my breath. I gripped his face, quickly softening the harsh touch. He cocked his head teasingly. He brought his face inches from him. I slid one of my arms around him, bringing his lips even closer my mine. The other ran across the dark quills. 

“I will savour you.”

As will I. 

I pushed my lips against his, quickly opening his mouth. My arm hooked itself into one of the soft holes that pulsed with anemones. The other quickly broke off a spine. He jerked in surprise, breathing out the sea. I swallowed it, inhaling the water, in turn pushing my air into his lungs. He struggled, lobster legs shredding my back. I didn’t care. I breathed out gales of wind, filling him, stuffing him with air. Water escaped his lips, chased out by hateful winds, out, up and into my own body. I inflated myself with it, welcomed it. His body heaved, and mine _ flourished _ . My Scorn! My Rage! My Disgust fueled me, and weakened him. My nails sharpened as his dulled, my strength gaining as his lessened. My wounds stitched closed faster than he could create them. His legs and tentacles both beginning to droop. Soon they fell off entirely leaving human legs, and a human chest. Eventually, he was still; he wasn’t dead. He would never die. But, he was overtaken. I flexed the fish tail that I didn’t notice spawned from my body. He glared weakly at me through slitted eyes. I brushed my cheek against his, letting spines clear off scores of flesh. I whispered to him as we finally reached the bottom of my new domain. “All these generations, they have felt your hunger. Now you all will all feel my rage.” 

And so they all did. 


End file.
